


And Maybe a Mug, Too

by chasingkerouac



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Universe, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingkerouac/pseuds/chasingkerouac
Summary: Sam and Bucky go through old Barnes family photographs.  They find a particularly interesting one.  Steve's going to hate it.





	And Maybe a Mug, Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceorphan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceorphan/gifts).



> spaceorphan wanted an MCU fic based on the phrase 'oh there you are, I've been looking for you forever'. This is what emerged.

“Oh there you are, I’ve been looking for you forever!” **  
**

Sam glanced up from the couch.  Bucky had been been rummaging through that box for over 30 minutes, but this was the first time he’d said anything.  “What?”

Bucky lifted a photograph from the pile and grinned.  Sam couldn’t lie, it was still unnerving to see the Winter Soldier smiling.  But all that time in Wakanda seemed to turn him into an actual human being with actual human feelings and reactions.  Steve claimed this was how Bucky normally was.  Steve had also had his brain put on ice for seventy years so he was probably still a little scrambled too.  “That means nothing to me,” Sam said.

“I was hoping Becca would have a copy of this.”

“Who’s Becca?”

“My sister.”

“Just how many of you came out of World War II?” Sam just shook his head.  “Your parents still around?  Your dog?  Your entire Little League team get Back to the Future’d?”

“Don’t be a dick, she’s almost 90.”  Bucky gingerly placed the photograph on the table before reaching behind his head and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the shelf.  

He chucked the fruit at Sam’s head.

Sam deflected it with practiced ease.  This was more like the Bucky he was used to.

“So she’s your little sister?”

“Yeah.”  Bucky’s tone turned wistful.  “Youngest of the six of us.  Still lives in Brooklyn.  Steve talked her into sending a bunch of old photographs if she could find them.”

“Does she know she was sending them to you and not just to Steve?”

Bucky shrugged.  “Probably.  I don’t think Steve said anything but she was always smarter than the guys in the neighborhood gave her credit for.  She’s Dr. Becca now.  Some sort of geologist, I think.”  He smiled again.  “I can’t believe she found this.”

Sam made a mental note to find this woman.  If only to get an embarrassing story or two to file away for future use.  “So what was the big surprise photo you found?”  He rolled off the couch and made his way to the table.  “Family photo?  Your grandparents or something?”

“Better.”  Bucky offered Sam the photo.  “That’s the St. Paul’s parish live nativity from around ‘33.”

Sam inspected the faces in the photo and found one he recognized instantly.  “Is that…”

“Yep.  He was the only one light enough to not collapse the manger.”

Sitting perched atop the makeshift manger was a teenage Steve Rogers, dressed in a white gown with what looked like a pipe cleaner halo attached to his head.  His hands were folded in front of him as he looked like the angriest little shit to every announce the birth of Jesus Christ.

“How much did he hate this?”

“Less than Nazis, but not by much.”

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket to take a picture of the picture, just in case.  “How much would he hate it if we, I dunno, enlarged this enough to put a poster on his bedroom wall.”

Bucky shrugged again.  “Natasha showed me something called Snapfish and you can apparently turn pictures into blankets now.”

Sam looked up front his phone.  Bucky was trying to hide a smile, but it wasn’t working.  “Steve would fucking hate that.”

“He really would.”

“We should get three.”

“And maybe a mug, too.”


End file.
